THE NAUTILUS. 11 



clays by auto was made in five, owing to weather conditions. 

 We enjoyed the journey through the Chinlee valley where with 

 government assistance thousands of acres of corn were under 

 cultivation, and the side-winder rattler was added to our col- 

 lection. 



We also stumbled into Ganado, headquarters of the Hubbel 

 string of trading posts established some forty years ago. Hon. 

 Lorenzo Hubbell, its head, many years a representative of the 

 territories of New Mexico and Arizona in Congress, was at 

 home. Here was another museum of Indian baskets, blankets, 

 paintings, desert books and the many things Indian we were 

 looking for. Paintings of all the patterns in blankets used by 

 the Navajos were on the walls, and one hundred at least of the 

 original portraits in sepia of Indians by that best of artists, 

 Elbridge Ayer Burbank. 



Lorenzo Hubbell, Jr., of Oraibi, was a delightful acquaint- 

 ance. In an empty Buick he overtook us the next morning 

 after the Ganado visit. ' ' Throw in a lot of those dunnage 

 bags and some of those girls and I will help you the next ten 

 miles; the road is rough that far," he said; and we went to it 

 and built a bridge. When the flood from the cloudburst had 

 passed we ran ahead into another cloudburst and built another 

 bridge, the men folks, including Hubbell, pulled off their 

 shoes, rolled up their pantaloons and waded through the mud 

 and cactus for half a day in their bare feet, built bridges, dug 

 out machines with shovels and their bare hands, pushed and 

 slipped and tumbled until dark, and Hubbell stayed with us 

 through it all. He was plainly that kind. When the cowboys 

 and Indians saw him at a distance they grinned the width of 

 their face, came up, slipped off their horses and shook hands 

 heartily. 



Humiliating to relate, an Indian boy with a burro was em- 

 ployed to pull out a car we could not push, and did it. On 

 another occasion two men of our party, stuck upon the hillside 

 of the San Juan, had their machine pulled over the top by a 

 Najavo woman and her burro, with merely a rope around the 

 donkey's neck. 



The snake dance of the Hopis terminates an annual nine-day 



